


Laying Claim

by OnTheTurningAway



Series: Mating Games - 2014 [4]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, Alternate Universe - Werewolves Are Known, Biting, Blood, Comeplay, M/M, Possessive Sex, Rough Sex, Scratching, blink and you'll miss it reference to breeding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-25
Updated: 2014-05-25
Packaged: 2018-01-26 11:31:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1686785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OnTheTurningAway/pseuds/OnTheTurningAway
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's the evening of the matchmaking ball and Derek, second in line in the Hale hierarchy, is nowhere to be found. </p><p>At the moment, he couldn't care less about rights of succession or propriety.  Not when Stiles is fucking him in earnest, his hands gripping Derek's hips so tightly they'd leave deep purple marks on any human.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Laying Claim

**Author's Note:**

> Expanded version of my ficlet (#19 in the collection) for the second Mating Games challenge, for the prompt: **The Beast Within** , now with 1k more porn!
> 
> This also fills the "au:royalty" square on my [Trope Bingo](http://trope-bingo.dreamwidth.org/) card.
> 
> Many thanks to [ArcadianMaggie](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ArcadianMaggie) for looking over the original version. Any remaining errors are the result of my inability to stop tinkering.

The courtyard bustles with activity as the Hales' guests begin to arrive. Derek hears a peal of tinkling laughter just as Stiles grasps his shoulder and shoves his cock back inside Derek's filthy stretched-out hole for the fourth time that day.

It's the evening of the matchmaking ball—Derek's third, he's been reminded of on more than one occasion. But he can't think about the disappointment on his mother's face after last year's fiasco, or the way she'd prattled on at breakfast about the importance of Hale heirs finding their partners soon after coming of age. Derek is second in line in the Hale hierarchy, but at the moment, he couldn't care less about rights of succession or propriety.

No, Derek can barely think at all when Stiles is fucking him in earnest, his hands gripping his hips so tightly they'd leave deep purple marks on any human. Derek wishes his body would let him keep the bruises; he wants to see them in a mirror, to push on them and feel the pleasant ache of Stiles' fingers digging into his skin long after Stiles has climbed off of him.

His back bows on a particularly hard thrust and Derek concentrates on the overwhelming pressure of being filled so perfectly, the crude slap of skin on skin, the wet squelch of Stiles grinding an afternoon's worth of come deeper inside him.

He needs more, wants to be so full of Stiles' come that his belly swells with it.

"Come on," he breathes. "Fill me up."

Stiles grunts and pulls Derek back onto his cock, hitting him just right, so deep inside. Claws break through his fingertips as he clenches filthy sheets in his fists and holds on, needing Stiles to possess him completely, to take everything he wants, everything Derek has to give, and more.

The bottle of oil Stiles had brought to slick him up with the first time teeters on the edge of the bed, then falls and shatters, its contents spreading like a bloodstain across the floor.

Derek had practically begged Stiles to fuck him without any lubricant at all, wanting to feel the dry drag of Stiles cock against his ass, imagining the blissful pleasure-pain of Stiles pushing into him with nothing but his spit to ease the way. Derek would surely bleed, feel the fire-bright burn of it with each jerk of Stiles' hips. He thinks Stiles would like to see that, his cock streaked with Derek's blood each time he shoved it roughly into Derek's body.

Derek wants it so badly; his thighs begin to tremble at the mere thought of it.

"Stay with me," Stiles says, pulling Derek upright, his back against Stiles' chest, and grinding up into him, slow and deep.

Stiles' arms wrap around Derek, holding him tight, and Derek grips Stiles' thighs to stay firmly seated on his cock. Warm hands trail up the length of Derek's body, dragging over damp skin until they reach Derek's nipples. Stiles takes them between nimble fingers, squeezing hard, tugging them to stiff peaks. 

He doesn't stop, not when Derek shudders against him, not when Stiles latches his mouth onto Derek's neck and feels the thudding pulse against his tongue. Instead, Stiles laughs into Derek's neck when he breaks the skin with a particularly vicious pinch, never stopping the torturous, lazy rhythm of his hips.

The metallic tang of blood fills Derek's nostrils and he moans long and low, but Stiles keeps squeezing and pinching at the little cuts he made, coaxing blood from Derek's body like a hungry child suckling its mother's tit. Derek feels warm droplets running down his chest and Stiles' fingers are slippery with it as they paint nonsensical designs into Derek's skin. When Stiles brings his fingers to Derek's mouth, he sucks them in greedily, licking them clean of metal and salt, even as he laments the tingle he feels in his chest as his body knits itself back together.

"Please." Derek desperately wants to come, wants Stiles' come to flood his body once more. Never wants this to end. A low, feral growl rumbles in his chest and his eyes flash a bright, searing blue. "Need it, Stiles. Need more."

Stiles shushes him, soothing him even as he pushes Derek back down onto his hands and knees. He wants to cry with relief when Stiles starts fucking him at an almost savage pace, driving into him with a singular purpose.

"Do you hear them down there, Derek? All those eager werewolves who can't wait to get their chance with you tonight?" Stiles is breathless but doesn't slow his movements for a second. He leans closer and sinks his teeth into the shell of Derek's ear. 

"I hear Lydia Martin will be attending. Your uncle seems particularly interested in bringing a banshee into the fold. Or maybe one of the Argents? An alliance with them could change everything."

Derek whines, high pitched and desperate, his wolf and his human sides coming together to reject even the possibility of Derek choosing someone who isn't Stiles. He can only shake his head, doesn't want to think about the party or his guests or his familial obligations. He can't, not now.

Stiles drags blunt, raggedy fingernails down his back, scoring his skin; Derek is desperate to see the marks, his very flesh and blood under Stiles' nails. He doesn't want to heal, or for Stiles to see the red lines vanish from Derek's back almost as soon as they appear.

"What do you think they'd say if they could see you now, on your knees for me? Spread open for a commoner, your _servant_ , filled with the come of a weak little human like me."

"I don't care what they think," Derek gasps. He drops down to rest his cheek and shoulder on the mattress, then reaches back to spread himself open even further. "Only want you."

With a strangled moan, Stiles traces a finger around Derek's asshole, now fully on display, stuffed full of Stiles' cock, swollen and obscene. "Going to fill you up again, Derek. Make you so full, stinking of my come, that no one will dare come near you tonight."

"Fuck yes, Stiles. Do it, please." Derek reaches for his cock, gives it a few firm tugs and blurts a pathetic dribble of come onto the filthy sheets. He's empty, spent, useless to the night's amorous guests, just the way Stiles wants him. He lowers himself to the bed and spreads his legs as wide as he can, inviting Stiles to use his body to find his release.

Stiles grips his ass, spreading him wide and thrusting into him with the full weight of his body. Usually more discreet, Stiles doesn't tamp down his choked off yell as he empties himself deep into Derek once more. Still inside, he collapses against Derek's sweat-slicked back to catch his breath and lazily mouths at Derek's damp skin.

When Stiles pulls out, Derek feels a glob of come slide down the inside of his thigh. Stiles swipes at it with his fingers, then flops down beside him. He brings his fingers up to his mouth and sucks them clean. Derek whimpers at the sight, jealous that he's not the one tasting Stiles' come.

Stiles just grins. "Should I plug you up, keep you wet and full of me all night?"

Derek wants that, so badly. He rolls onto his back, pulling Stiles on top of him, and ruts helplessly up against him. Stiles' softening, wet cock sticks to his skin and stutters against the coarse hair on his belly and Derek crashes their mouths together in a violent kiss.

He can't stand the thought of Stiles bathing him, washing their combined scents away, before preparing him for the party. Or having Stiles attend to him while guests are paraded in front of Derek in their satins and silks, batting their eyelashes in false displays of innocence while angling for a stolen kiss or a grope in a dark corner.

If only they knew he'd be useless to them, that he has already given himself completely, in every way that matters, to this man and no other.

"Not tonight," Derek says, an idea sparking in the back of his mind. He kisses Stiles again, and again, courage building with each press of their lips.

Eventually, Stiles pulls back with a resigned sigh. "I should draw your bath. You're late already."

"I'm the main attraction. They can wait for me a little longer," Derek says, indulging in yet another kiss and relishing the feel of Stiles' bare, warm skin against his. "No washing tonight, either. Just help me dress, then put on your best clothes."

Stiles looks startled at first, confused and then unbelievably pleased when Derek's words click into place. He scrambles off the bed and out of the room only to return a few minutes later, clutching his only suit in his hands.

Any doubt Derek had falls away at seeing the excited flush on Stiles' cheeks.

They prepare quickly. Stiles dresses first, then fastens Derek's trousers, smoothes rich velvet across his broad shoulders and straightens his tie. A smile crosses Derek's face when he feels Stiles' come leaking from his body.

The scent is overwhelming and unmistakable, and soon everyone will be able to see what has been keeping Derek from the party. Derek's mother has turned a blind eye to Derek's relationship thus far, but there will be no going back from here, not after the silent announcement Derek will be making in front of their guests.

"Are you sure about this?" Stiles asks, biting his lips, voice unsteady. "I know I'm not—"

Derek interrupts him with a chaste kiss. It pains him to see this version of Stiles, one plagued with uncertainty and self-doubt. He's a far cry from the man who spent the afternoon laying claim to Derek's body, possessing him inside and out and giving Derek more than any werewolf or other mythical creature ever could.

In a show of bravery befitting a Hale, and one Derek hopes his mother will eventually be proud of, Derek takes Stiles' hand and leads him down the grand staircase to the party below.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on [tumblr](http://otta-ff.tumblr.com/) and [twitter](https://twitter.com/otta_ff). Come say hi!


End file.
